


Smile

by Tamoline



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 07:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8318974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamoline/pseuds/Tamoline
Summary: Smile. Relax.Lovelace can do this. She can totally flirt with Maxwell, push this as far as it can go.All in the name of staying alive, of course.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [veleda_k](https://archiveofourown.org/users/veleda_k/gifts).



> I know you didn't request Isobel/Rachel, but it worked so well for this mirroring idea I had. (And, well, was it just me, or did Greensboro have a hint of flirting there?) I hope its presence doesn't spoil things for you.

_Smile_

 

Maxwell’s floating in the kitchen, brightly chatting with Hera in between sucking on a protein pouch. Lovelace hesitates in the corridor outside, just watching for a moment.

 

_Smile_

 

She forces herself to relax - again - to appear friendly - again - to let a small smile appear on her face and push herself into the kitchen. “Hi,” she says.

 

Maxwell jerks, twists to look at her. Surprise morphs to delight flickers to suspicion changes to a more guarded welcome. It’s moments like this - when something breaks through her usual brusque professionalism -  that make her seem so young, so very young.

 

_Just like Fourier was_

 

Or maybe she’s just that good an actress. How can Lovelace really know?

 

“Captain,” Maxwell says. “Give me a minute and I can get out of your hair.”

 

Can, not will. An opening, at the very least.

 

_Smile_

 

“You might be small, Maxwell, but you’re not quite tiny enough to fit in my hair when it’s tied back like this.” Which, ugh. Okay, maybe her sense of humour has rusted a little solid with disuse. And maybe it’d help if she felt at least a little relaxed about trying this, but waiting for the perfect situation on the Hephaestus is a little like waiting for Godot.  “At least don’t leave here with that being that last thing I say,” she says, trying again, forcing a grin onto her face.

 

In spite - or possibly because - of her crappy attempt at a joke, it appears to be the right approach, the right thing to say. Somehow. Maxwell relaxes at once, her smile cranking up a notch or two, becoming less guarded. Even gives a chuckle or two, though possibly more at her abject humiliation than the joke.

 

Fine. Whatever works.

 

_Smile_

 

“Maybe we can even finally have that talk about spectral analyses,” Lovelace says.

 

 “Sure,” Maxwell says, brushing a strand of hair up over her ear. “Let’s chat.”

 

_“Well,” Ms Young said, putting the file aside, “Now that the screening’s officially over, fancy getting a drink?”_

 

_Lovelace blinked. “Uh, is this still part of recruitment pitch? Because if so, holy hell is that going above and beyond the call of duty.”_

 

_Ms Young’s smile sharpened. “Oh no. I like to think you’ve already made up your mind. And regardless of which way you decide, we’re not going to see each other for years, at the very least. Trust me, I wouldn’t even think of suggesting this if that wasn’t true. So?  Carpe diem?”_

 

_Lovelace eyed Ms Young speculatively. “Sure,” she said, letting her own smile start to spread across her face,_

 

It’s been a long night - no, not night, not here in space, but a long time since she last slept, and Lovelace is feeling a little punch drunk, the numbers and letters starting to blur in front of her. Maxwell catches her eye and giggles, actually giggles, so she’s probably not feeling so hot either.

 

_She has been here before. College. Too many late nights pushing, pushing. Dark outside, like it’s always dark outside._

 

_An attraction, never before spoken of, never really admitted to, but inhibitions pushed just low enough to take the risk…_

 

_But that was then - when she was innocent, with no real idea of the cruelty and callousness of the world._

 

_And this is now, and that’s simply not true any more._

 

It’s hours past when she should really have hit her bunk, for an hour or two at least, everything becoming a little blurry with fatigue and she finds herself reaching forward before she can really think through what she’s doing, pushing that strand of Maxwell’s hair that seemingly cannot stay away from her face back again.

 

Pauses when she realises that she’s almost cradling the side of Maxwell’s face.

 

It’s not that she precisely didn’t mean to do it - hasn’t been angling towards something like this since she started this dance a few weeks ago - but…

 

There’s a moment, frozen, heavy with potential as she and Maxwell just look at each other.

 

Has she moved too soon? Has she overplayed her hand? Is Maxwell really interested, or has she misread the situation?

 

Then Maxwell moves, ducks in towards her and suddenly they’re kissing, vectors combining to send them spinning gently across the room.

 

_A few shots had done little to diminish Ms Young’s predatory demeanour. If anything, it might have sharpened it, like a blade being slowly eased from a scabbard._

 

_Not that Isobel exactly minded. Dangerous women always had been a vice of hers._

 

_Not that she’d taken it for the warning it had been._

 

_The alcoholic lubrication had been sufficient to turn her from Ms Young to Rachel, at her insistence, and it seemed only fair that Lovelace be Isobel, at least for the night._

 

_As she slammed down the glass from the latest shot, Rachel’s gaze focussed on her lips. Or her neck - it was a little hard to tell. Little hard to care. Her lips curved as she caught Isobel following her gaze._

 

_“Last chance to walk away,” she drawled. “Last chance to avoid disturbing our working relationship.”_

 

_“What working relationship?” Isobel asked. “I thought that had been the point.”_

 

_“Well, exactly.”_

 

_“Come at me,” Isobel said, smirk to match Rachel’s lethal smile._

 

_Rachel did._

 

It doesn’t go any further than some breathless, fatigue drunk making out. Not at the moment. 

 

_Careful, careful._

 

Can’t do too much too fast. Can’t make her suspicious. Lovelace eventually pushes her away. “That was…” _Relax. Smile._ “Wow. Not bad lip skills there, doctor.”

 

She’s lying, but only a little bit. She doesn’t think Maxwell’s bad, but Lovelace is tracking a few too many things to be really measuring how good Maxwell is at kissing here.

 

Maxwell is disheveled, hair a mess, lips swollen, eyes bright looking up at her, blushing a little. Lord knows what Lovelace looks like. 

 

But it’s a start.

 

“Thank you,” Maxwell says. “You were… good too. Um…” she says, looking a little white around the eyes, glancing around as if looking for an exit.

 

“I don’t know about you, but I could probably hit the sack around now,” Lovelace says, giving her the out she so obviously wants.

 

“Yes,” Maxwell says, “Thank you. Later?” Despite the question, she doesn’t wait for an answer, pushing off immediately in the vague direction of her room.

 

Lovelace waits for a minute, running a hand through her own hair, before she follows her.

 

“Captain?” Hera asks.

 

“Yes, Hera?” Lovelace asks with a sigh. It had been perhaps a little too much to ask that she could get away with this without questions from the resident AI.

 

“What exactly do you think you’re doing with Maxwell?” Even if Lovelace hadn’t known that the AI was potentially compromised, the protectiveness which which Hera asks the question would be a clear red flag.

 

“When one human finds another human attractive…” she tries. It’s worth a shot at the very least.

 

“Fine,” Hera says snippily. “Make a cheap joke at the AI’s expense. Pretend I haven’t had ample opportunity to see how humans interact in my time as mother program.”

 

“I’m not entirely certain years of watching Selberg, Eiffel and Minkowski squabble can really be said to give you a good grounding in how adults interact.” Toddlers, maybe. Adults? Please.

 

Hera pauses long enough to let Lovelace know that - unsurprisingly - she’s having a hard time disagreeing. “Look, it isn’t as though I’m not aware of your views on Kepler and his crew. Crew including Maxwell. So?”

 

Lovelace forces herself to relax, to look down, to hopefully appear as though Hera is winkling something out of her. She’s not sure how well the AI can read body language, but better safe than sorry. “I don’t know,” she says. _Can’t say anything too out of character. Must keep in mind that Maxwell could well be monitoring this._ “Maybe not all of them are completely bad. Maybe I want to see where this goes before I write anyone off.”

 

Hera grumbles but Lovelace ignores her in favour pushing herself down the corridor in the direction of her rack.

 

It’s a few days of _smile a little_ and _relax a little_ every time she sees Maxwell over the next few days. Occasionally even _joke a little_ despite how wrong it feels. Maybe a little more if they’re the only people around. Jacobi’s the only one who seems to notice - from the occasional glower he gives her - but she can deal. Lovelace plays it slow, lets things develop, waits until it feels right.

 

Maybe that’s why it is, surprisingly, Maxwell who makes the next move. A flicker of motion out of her peripheral vision - _is this it?_ \- and she’s already in motion, pivoting the top of her body one way so she can lash out with her feet in the other, towards the danger, before she even has a chance to recognise who it is. Recognise Maxwell, who has just opened the door to the closet she’s apparently been hiding in. 

 

Maybe she realises who it is in time that she could change her vector. She’s honestly not sure. But threat assessment - that she doesn’t, can’t, trust Maxwell not to be a danger without a second glance - means she carries on regardless, impacting Maxwell with hard booted feet directly in the stomach.

 

“Sorry,” she says, bouncing off a wall to return to Maxwell’s proximity as a less dangerous velocity. “Guess I’m a bit jumpy these days..”

 

Maxwell wheezes at her. She has to admit that it’s nice to know that she has still got it if she needs it.

 

But…

 

_Relax_

 

Not that helpful in grand scheme of things. “Hey,” she says, rubbing Maxwell on the back. “Breathe. Come on, breathe.”

 

It takes a few minutes for Maxwell to regain the power of speech. “I probably shouldn’t repeat that experiment, should I?”

 

_Smile_

 

“Best not,” Lovelace advises with a smile that’s aimed to be weak. Thinks about asking how she knew that Lovelace was going to be heading this way in enough time to hide, but, well, Hera.

 

Another reminder, if she needed it.

 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” she asks instead. A nice, normal question. Maybe even one that’s owed, in the circumstances.

 

Maxwell looks up at her, searching her face for… something. “Maybe you should check me over?” she says, and there’s enough nervousness there that it takes a few seconds for Lovelace to recognise the invitation in her words.

.

Still. “Prefer to give you a real check first, just in case,” she says and Maxwell obligingly pulls up her top. A little careful feeling reveals that the worst she’s suffered is a little gentle bruising.

 

Which is good, right?

 

She gives Maxwell’s stomach a final, light caress and is oddly satisfied to see Maxwell’s breath hitch a little.

 

_Relax_

 

“But if we’re going to do this,” she says. “Shouldn’t you really be the one playing doctor with me?”

 

Maxwell’s face twists a little and she slaps at Lovelace’s arm lightly, but moves in, guiding her lips on a perfect vector to Lovelace’s.

 

Lovelace kisses back, closes the closet door behind her, and spends a lazy half hour making out before Maxwell disengages with an almost shy smile. “I really have to get back to coding,” she says.

 

“Now that you’ve had a rest break,” Lovelace says sardonically.

 

“Taking regular breaks improves productivity,” Maxwell says piously.

 

Lovelace barely has to think _smile_ to curve her lips back at her as Maxwell turns towards the door.  “Does Jacobi know?” she asks.

 

She’s fairly sure she knows the answer, but what Maxwell tells her will be illuminating too.

 

Maxwell’s hand freezes on the door. “Is that a problem?” she asks, looking back at her.

 

Lovelace shrugs. “Not if isn’t a problem for you. What about Kepler?”

 

Maxwell looks briefly horrified. “No.” Also interesting. “What about the rest of your crew?”

 

“We really aren’t that close,” Lovelace says and Maxwell nods in response, before disappearing out of the door. Lovelace is left looking after her.

 

_Huntress or hunted? Player or played?_

 

From there things heat up a little. Apparently once Maxwell has made a decision, she’s all in. Given the limits of their punishing schedule, anyway. Still, it’s a little surprising when Maxwell stops her with one hand after a quick session of making out, and says, “If you want to jump out of a closet at me some time….”

 

“It might work better than the other way around?”

 

Maxwell blushes, but says, “Quite.”

 

“Okay…” she says, but smiles without even having to think about it.

 

Besides, that could be…

 

_Useful_

 

A delay of a few seconds in reaction time can make all the difference after all.

 

Two weeks later, Lovelace has her mouth focussed on Maxwell’s neck and one arm twisted up beneath her shirt, all in all wringing some very satisfying noises from the other woman.

 

Maxwell makes a disgruntled noise, says, “Lower.” When Lovelace hesitates, Maxwell shoves Lovelace’s arm lower herself, indicating exactly what she wants.

 

“You sure?” Lovelace asks. She may be planning on using Maxwell, still planning on probably killing this stooge of the company that killed her crew, who is undoubtedly going to help try to kill her new crew - but that doesn’t mean she has to be an asshole about it.

 

Maxwell glares at her. “I wouldn’t have put your hand on my crotch if I wasn’t,” she snaps, which… point.

 

“Well, prepare to go where… pretty much all of us have gone before,” she can’t help quipping, even now, even like this.

 

Maxwell’s face twists and she gives Lovelace an entirely well deserved nudge in the ribs before gasping a little as Lovelace slips her hand into her underwear.

 

“Oh, you really were sure,” Lovelace says and smirks a little as she gets poked again.

 

It’s a little sloppy - Lovelace doesn’t have that much experience with zero gee sex, and the constant need to hang onto each other lest they go floating off in different directions at the slightest shove doesn’t exactly help - and her sense of humour seems to have picked the darnedest time to make a reappearance - _trying too hard, Lovelace?_ \- but…

 

But she soon enough has Maxwell writhing and gasping - _vulnerable_ \- and that’s got be good, hasn’t it?

 

Maxwell quietens, breath slowing, and looks at her a moment, soft eyed and smiling, with her hair floating out of the normally impeccable arrangement she has it in.

 

Despite everything, it hurts a little, looking at her like this.

 

“I believe that it’s my turn now,” Maxwell says, reaching for her.

 

_Rachel pounced as soon as they got to Isobel’s hotel room, pushing her against the wall just inside the room. Laughing, Isobel let her._

 

_Rachel’s eyes narrowed at her amusement. “Do you think this is funny?” she asked, glaring up at Isobel._

 

_“I thought you appreciated my sense of humour.”_

 

_“Not,” she said, punctuating her words with a hard kiss, her hands working busily at undoing the buttons on Isobel’s shirt. “At the moment.”_

 

_“Noted,” Isobel said, taking the opportunity to start unbuttoning Rachel’s blouse, shivering slightly as Rachel’s fingers brushed across her flesh._

 

_“Bed,” Rachel said after they’d disrobed each other, in between kisses and strokes - and scratches, coming from Rachel. Not that Isobel was exactly complaining. “Down,” she said, once they had mutually manoeuvred in front of it, and Isobel let herself be pushed backwards._

 

_“Now,” Rachel said looking down on her after having climbed on the bed after her “What shall I do with you now?”_

 

Lovelace shrugs away from Maxwell. _Smile_ “Not really into that, sorry,” she says. Maxwell looks a little disappointed, but doesn’t say anything in return. “Besides,” Lovelace says in an attempt to cheer her up. “Is it not better to give than receive? So, really, you’re doing me a favour.”

 

Maxwell gives her a smile back, so it’s enough, it has to be enough.

 

Afterwards, when they’re floating together, endorphins still flooding their systems, Maxwell turns to Lovelace and buries her face in her neck. “Hera worries about me getting involved with you,” she says.

 

“Maybe she’s right to worry,” Lovelace finds herself admitting.

 

Maxwell sighs. “I’m afraid about what this mission is going to ask of me,” she mutters quietly.

 

Lovelace doesn’t reply to that, doesn’t have an answer at all. 

 

Doesn’t say ‘me too.’

 

Just holds her closer, as if that can help at all.

 

In retrospect, given the limited confines of the Hephaestus, it’s actually a little surprising that it takes another week for anyone to walk in on them, even accounting for their best efforts to steal moments when they won’t be missed. The first that Lovelace knows of Eiffel’s presence is a high pitched yelp from the direction of the entrance of the storage room they’ve commandeered. Lovelace spins around - incidentally throwing Maxwell back behind her, away from any threat - to see Eiffel floating in the doorway, one hand clapped over his eyes.

 

He cracks his fingers, yelps, slams them shut once again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

 

Lovelace refuses to feel even a little embarrassed, despite her current lack of attire. “Leave, Eiffel,” she says in a threatening tone of voice.

 

“Going,” Eiffel says, pushing himself around with his legs and free arm.

 

“Close the door after you,” Lovelace mutters, to no avail as Eiffel vacates the area at some velocity. She rolls her eyes, grabs the top of her uniform and holds it to her front and slams the door shut, fastens it.

 

Maxwell is - possibly unsurprisingly - pulling on clothing when she turns around, the mood well and truly ruined. Eiffel has that effect, she can’t help thinking. “Sorry about that,” she says. “I would apologise for Eiffel, but if I started, I’d never stop.”

 

Maxwell flashes her a strained smile. “It’s not your fault,” she says. “I was the last in. It’s a lesson about locking the door behind us, I guess.”

 

That, and finding rooms that can be locked, which is going to be a lot harder to do unnoticed from this point forward.

 

Maxwell manages to get dressed first, but waits for Lovelace to get decent, nervously running a hand through her hair again and again whilst she does so. “You going to be alright?” Lovelace asks as she struggles into her top.

 

Lovelace glances away. “Of course,” she says then looks back. “How about you?”

 

Somewhat to Lovelace’s surprise, there appears to be a hint of actual concern there. Which is good. Right? “You really think I can’t handle Doug Eiffel?” she asks sardonically, but as Lovelace pushes past her to exit the room, she can tell they both know it’s more than that.

 

It’s a day before she has to pay the piper - a day spent wondering if this is the moment that Eiffel is going to bumble into wherever she currently is and spoil everything, a day where she feels like she’s almost crawling out of her skin, hypersensitive to everything. Though Kepler being in a disgustingly good humour - even more so than usual -  when she pushes into the mess hall helps not one bit. It could be nothing to do with what happened earlier - probably isn’t, judging by the way his attention seems more focussed on Jacobi than Maxwell.

 

But still, she can’t help thinking what if, what if, what if.

 

 _Player or played Hunter or hunted_ echo through her mind the rest of the day.

 

It’s the next day, naturally, when she’s almost began to relax, a little, when she gets grabbed for a last minute meeting of the crew of the Hephaestus. As soon as Hera turns off her sensors in the room, Eiffel drops the bomb.

 

“I caught Captain Janeway over there interfacing with Seven of Nine in a closet yesterday!” he exclaims, gesturing wildly in her direction, and Lovelace has to resist the impulse to try and snap the offending limb.

 

It wouldn’t be productive.

 

She has to watch Minkowski’s expression turn first to puzzlement then slowly  to realisation. “Lovelace? And Maxwell?” she asks, disapproval graven into every line in her face, and Eiffel nods. “Pryce and Carter very clearly states-”

 

“I think we passed Pryce and Carter some time ago,” Lovelace interrupts drily.

 

“They’re the enemy,” Minkowski returns. “She’s the enemy. Have you lost sight of that?”

 

“Not for one second,” Lovelace says cooly. “Her influence over Hera is one of our biggest problems. This gets me closer to her.”

 

Minkowski gapes at her. “You’re- you seduced her?”

 

“No, it’s because I’ve fallen helplessly in love and or lust with her.”

 

Eiffel eyes her with disgust mixed with a little respect. “So 007, got anything useful so far?”

 

She shrugs. “A few things. If nothing else, the ability to quickly take out one third of our occupying force pretty much on command isn’t exactly going to hurt.”

 

The meeting goes on as she feeds what else she’s been able to learn to them. Eventually, Eiffel and Minkowski exit, leaving just her and Selberg in the room. Selberg who has remained quiet, contenting himself with keeping a gimlet gaze on her throughout.

 

“You really think you can do it?” he asks, finally. “Kill her if it comes down to it, now that you’ve fucked her?”

 

_She dreamed about that night with Rachel on and off for years afterwards, reliving the last bout of good sex she has before she leaves for the mission._

 

_The dreams changed after she learns the truth, figured out that Rachel must have known that she was sending Lovelace and her crew off to die. In those dreams, rather than Rachel bringing her to a fast hard conclusion - at least the first time - Lovelace climaxed as she throttled the life out of Rachel on that hotel bed._

 

In the last few weeks, those dreams have changed once again. Sometimes, now, she’s having sex with Maxwell instead. Sometimes she’s throttling Maxwell instead. She can’t help wondering what it says about her that the dreams don’t bother her more.

 

“I don’t think I’ll have a problem at all.”


End file.
